


And Somehow Growing Old Feels Fine

by Bells_Hunt



Category: Glee
Genre: Huntbastian, I'm Yours, M/M, Meeting Again, The Script, adult!huntbastian, older!huntbastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bells_Hunt/pseuds/Bells_Hunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You touch these tired eyes of mine, <br/>And map my face out line by line<br/>And somehow, growing old feels fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Though I May Not Look Like Much

 

 

 

Hunter sighed as he turned the communicator off and put it aside.

He took a look at the empty tray by his side and decided it was time to take it downstairs to the kitchen. He could just as easily leave it for Mark to clean up tomorrow, but he’d never liked to have someone cleaning up after him. As though he were unable to see daily tasks through by himself. Or couldn’t live on his own without someone to care for him.

As he got to his feet, he hissed lightly, and forced his leg stretched. His hand coming down in a familiar gesture, to rub over the mess of scars over his left thigh, under the pajama pants. He didn’t actually give it a second thought. Instead, he just grabbed the tray from the bed, and made his way to the door and downstairs. As he walked, each step twitched and dragged a bit less than the past one. And by the time he got down to the first floor and living room, he was already walking normally. Or as normal as he had for the last 25 years.

His mind wandered to the communicator again, as he made downstairs.

The calls he had spent the whole weekend making were but an ingrained habit. He didn’t need them to know none of the children were coming over for Christmas.

He already knew where they’d be, he had for almost ten years now.

They’d be in their mother’s house, all three of them, with their respective families. Yet, each year he still invited them, for some default reason, one by one. Just as he lazily planned where he’d get the meals. Bought gifts for each of them and their kids. Wrote cards, and sent them over so they’d arrive in time for “Santa’s visit”.

The lightning exploded the kitchen with a flash as he cleaned the tray up, making him cringe and frown at the windows. He could be fifty five, and he could had faced many far worse things things than water pouring from the sky, but he still hated storms. In fact, he hated them even more now.

The strong flashes of light, the sudden bursts of noise, all too familiar for comfort.

At first he didn’t notice the knock on the door.

He was too busy making his way back. As well as pushing from his mind the thought telling him that maybe, just maybe, he should had listened to Angel. When she told him to just have a damn elevator installed already. He refused to admit he couldn’t do something as ridiculously simple as climbing up the stairs. He had walked on his two legs just fine all his life, and he’d keep doing so. Just as he still preferred to swim on the lake every morning, rather than have an inside pool installed. No matter how much “safer” or “warmer” it could be, he had no wish to feel like a damn fish in a bowl.

He wanted to hold on to his autonomy. Feel like he could get by with his own feet if he had to.

When the knock came again, for a split second, he reached for his waist, before he remembered there was no use. His gun hadn’t hung from his waist for a long, long time. He turned to the door and glowered, but limped to it. Even though he made a point to grab the baseball bat from the hallway.

He doubted anyone would blame him, and he hadn’t worried about “looking silly” for a long time now.

As he opened it, his fingers slipped on their hold and he had to catch his breath. For a moment he didn’t even say anything, brows furrowed far from belief. _Was he going crazy? Was this just another trick from his old mind?_ Then a thunder shook him back to reality.

“ _Sebastian_ …?”

“No. **Marie Antoinette**. Are you letting me in or am I going to freeze out here??”

Hunter made way.

He was different.

As he closed the door, his head cataloged every single sign of it. He would be actually surprised he could recognize him weren’t from those eyes and eyebrows. Those weren’t something Hunter would ever mistake. The look in them was all too memorable, despite the differences to the rest. And he pursed his lips to pretend not to recognize it, but, apart from that, without a clue on what to do or say. With a painful familiarity, Sebastian filled in the blank.

“Are you beating me up, or…?”

Hunter looked down at the bat on his hand and put it aside, as he seemed to finally find his tongue.

“That depends, are you here just to keep me up all night with your old snark you still think it’s cute, or is there something more to it?” he asked, skeptic.

He didn’t know why. Sebastian didn’t look seventeen, and Hunter could notice every token that age had gotten on him. But he suddenly felt as though they were just back in the Dalton dorm they once shared.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and Hunter just stared at him, unimpressed.

“Well, can a man sit?”

Hunter took a moment before he made a silent gesture to the couches and followed him. Sebastian sat down and so did he. As they glanced at each other, Hunter could almost see that Sebastian remembered those couches all too well, as much as he did.

“The house didn’t change much.”

“Didn’t have a reason to.”

Sebastian crossed his leg just like he always did, ankle on his knee. Hunter had forgotten all the little things he knew about him, and now they seemed to be coming back at an impressive pace. He pressed lips together and just stared at the other, eyebrows a bit risen. As always, he refused to talk first. Refused to willingly play into whatever game Sebastian had planned.

The other gulped, before he put on a smirk which Hunter could see right through.

“You look hot, babe. I should call Duval, he owes me.”

“Owes you?” Hunter asked, doubtful.

He couldn’t imagine a reason why Nick Duval would owe Sebastian anything. If he was right, they hadn’t talked for at least thirty years. For a moment he considered again if he hadn’t just fallen asleep up in his room, and this wasn’t some kind of weird, shitty dream.

Weird because in his dreams with Sebastian he didn’t usually imagine the other aged as this. Shitty because in those dreams Sebastian didn’t usually just sat down and talked either.

Sebastian smirked wider and Hunter couldn’t help but notice the dimples forming just like they used to. It made him look younger, and made it harder for him to decide whether this was real or not. It burned the pit of his stomach, unexpectedly, knocking his mind back in time, and making him blink to try and get the weird feeling away.

“I bet him. Fifty bucks. That out of everyone in the Warblers, you’d be the hottest in forty years.” he offered him a dashing smile. “And fuck if I was wrong.”

Hunter snorted and looked down, shaking his head as he tried to hide his smile. The gush of pride, the familiar flirty flushing feeling through his skin, the heat on his stomach and other better places. All of which he hadn’t felt in more years than he could count.

“You haven’t changed a thing, have you?” he rose eyes to the other as he quirked an eyebrow, smile slowly getting under control now.

He didn’t remember how long it had been since he last actually laughed with anyone, other than alone with his grandkids.

“Why change something that’s perfect?” Sebastian retorted, winking. And Hunter pressed his thick lips together both of them staring at each other for a moment before he sighed, at last.

“Why are you here, Smythe?”

“Last name basis? That’s harsh.”

“Sebastian…” he warned.

“Fine.” he shrugged. “I saw a picture. In one of those digital news or whatever they call it. Was around. Decided to pass by. Satisfied? Or are you gonna kick me out? But before you do that, you should know my hotel reservations are only from tomorrow on, and you’ll be kicking an old man out in the rain. And that’s not what the american dream is about, Cap.”

“Right.” Hunter tried to win time as he looked at the other, caught off guard again for the old nickname.

Sebastian Smythe. Sitting in his living room’s couch. Looking as fit as ever, dark black coat, social shoes, as if no time had passed.

He had no idea what to do with that.

There was something muffled, throbbing at the back of his throat, at the back of his mind, in his lungs, but he refused to even look at it. It had been almost forty years after all. He held on to the arm of the couch and got up.

“Well. In that case, you can grab whatever room upstairs. I don’t give a damn. It’s late as fuck and a man needs his rest. Tomorrow we can have breakfast and then you can go to your fancy hotel.” his answer was flat and as he talked, he already moved towards the stairs. For a moment, there was no sound, and he almost looked back, but then Sebastian was following him in a rushed pace.

Hunter tried not to notice it.

As he guided him upstairs and to his oldest son’s room, he tried to ignore it.

The way Sebastian’s green eyes weren’t old, or slow, in the least. The way they followed every single move he made, as if he was trying to catalog every single thing that had changed, or stayed in time. As he if he was being analyzed and scrutinized by the other. He tried to ignore the way his eyes wanted badly to do just the same.

He tried to ignore the way Sebastian walked in the same smooth stroll. And the way he pinched the tip of his nose, fading away a smile when he got nervous with Hunter’s consistent avoidance. In the exact same way as before. He tried to ignore the way he just huddled the covers Hunter gave him. And threw them casually over the bed, like he was throwing his old lacrosse gear.

He tried to ignore the long silence when none of them knew what else to say. After all one could only ask about work, partners and family for so long. Or the brief, tense, silence after one of Sebastian’s sexual flattering remarks. When their eyes locked, not in light amusement, but charged, and both of them seemed to wonder if he meant it. If he was ready to mean it.

What he couldn’t ignore was the way he was stopped when he was leaving after saying farewell.

The way Sebastian’s hand felt warm over skin as he held his forearm, just close to where his elbow bent. The way there was no smirk on his lips, or fiery mockery on his eyes when he said: “thanks”. And at last, he couldn’t ignore the way Sebastian’s voice seemed to caress the word as he added a soft “Hunt” to the end of it.

For a moment Hunter didn’t think he was gonna leave the room.

And then he did it without anything but a nod. Hurrying to his bedroom as if Sebastian had threatened his life, instead of just thanking him.

When he closed his door, he stood for a moment, panting, and a little wide eyed and brain knotted. He hadn’t felt like that in such a long time that he had completely forgotten how it did feel.

He took deep breathes trying to lower his pulse down, and once he was a little calmer, he felt like an idiot.

Sebastian probably thought he was one by this rate. He hadn’t even offered him a glass of water, had he? Much less something warm to eat. He sighed. It seemed like his social skills were something that had definitely not improved through time either. He hesitated, wondering if he should go back there and offer him something. But then he scowled at himself and started undressing instead.

He knew Sebastian could perfectly ask for what needed. And there was no reason to make a fool of himself twice in a row.

He got out of his clothes and into bed. As he lied down, another thunder shook the house and he cursed low.

_As if sleeping wasn’t going to be hard enough as it was._

_You’re a grown ass man._ He lectured himself, trying to get comfortable in bed. _And you are going to sleep. And not think_ about the fact that his old high school crush was sleeping just right next to his room. No. That was completely unacceptable behavior. He was past fifty! He wasn’t supposed to feel so silly just because someone was sleeping some feet away from him. It was overly laughable that he would even wonder-

He pushed his covers aside and rubbed his face as he sat up.

_Fuck it._

“Lights on.”

He grabbed the book he had been reading. An old, real, tangible, book from when he was younger, and settled against the headboard with it. That should keep his mind off trouble, and off wandering, and it almost did. Yet, he was still trying to get through the first chapter, when his door knob shuffled.

His head snapped up, breaking the focus he had just managed to settle, and he he stared at Sebastian’s form by the door frame with a lost gaze. Sebastian whom was bracing and dragging his bed covers on his arm.

As he didn’t say a word, Sebastian entered and closed the door. Walking to him as he spoke, shrugging deftly, clearly trying not to look too bashful.

“I thought you wouldn’t be asleep.” he commented and when Hunter frowned at him, _did he know what he caus-_ “The storm.” Sebastian said, raising eyebrows and pressing his lips, as he always did when he had to point out something obvious.

Hunter breathed out and half chuckled bitterly as he squeezed his nape.

“Yeah. That. It’s gotten worse.” he mumbled, before laying his head back on the headboard and closing his eyes, as he heard and felt Sebastian shuffle over the bed. God. Hunter pretended not to notice the way the weight made his pulse raise again.

“Or you’ve gotten worse.” Hunter opened his eyes and found the other’s light but toothy smile directed at him. And he pushed it into a smirk when he met his eyes. “At hiding it. Pretending you’re a big bad soldier.”

Hunter looked at him, watching him settle, before quirking one of his lip corners and nodding tiredly.

“Perhaps.” he admitted, taking the book off his lap to place it aside. He wouldn’t get any of it into his head anyway. As he moved, he didn’t see the way Sebastian was looking at him. Or rather at his lap. He only realized when he heard the other’s short harsh breath. He looked at him confused and worried before he followed his gaze and sighed. “Sorry, I forgot-”

“No. It’s fine.” he stopped covering it as Sebastian held his wrist, and they shared a look. Sebastian offering him a pointed one, as if they were back in the dorm and he was helping him with a football bruise. “It’s fine.” he repeated, and Hunter let go.

He wasn’t sure what the other would do. And for a moment it seemed like Sebastian didn’t know either.

And then he was touching him.

Hunter’s leg twitched in automatic response, as Sebastian’s fingertips traced the mess of scar tissue all over his thigh. Feather light, as if he was afraid it wou-

“Does it hurt?”

Hunter shrugged.

“Sometimes. Specially during storms.” he admitted, pressing his lips in a bit of a bitter line.

Sebastian nodded, eyebrows a little pressed as he stared. For a few seconds none of them said anything. Sebastian seemed lost in tracing the patterns, a look of worry on his forehead, and Hunter watched him do it. But then, the words fell out of his lips before he could repress them.

“Why are you here?”

At first, Sebastian gave him a frightened look. It lasted just a second though. He shrugged, right after, turning his attention down again. Just like he’d always done when he was trying to hide from Hunter’s eyes. And this time he knew it wasn’t because the other was focused on all the ways war had damaged his skin.

“Told you, saw a picture, decided to stop by.”

His tone was tense and Hunter found he couldn’t pretend not to notice it.

“Why are you really here?” Hunter insisted. Holding his wrist, so Sebastian couldn’t keep pretending to be doing whatever he was pretending to do.

It worked, as he raised his eyes to him, even though his distaste with Hunter’s attitude was clear on his face. Sebastian had always hoped to avoid things and Hunter would rarely let him, which usually ended up in screams.

Still, Hunter figured he had the right to know.

He had the right to know why was his old hook up in his room. At midnight, on Christmas’ week. Running fingers over his old war scars, and acting as though they were still seventeen. Acting as though they hadn’t pushed each other out of one another’s lives, forty years ago. Acting as though they hadn’t fought, and shouted, and yelled, each other away from one another, forty years ago.

It took him a few moments to notice the glassiness on Sebastian’s eyes. _God._ Had it been that long? Had it really been a life time? Hunter’s chest ached deeper than his wounds would, just as fresh and bruised as if no time had passed at all.

“Bastian…” he tried again, and his tone was softer this time around, not as demanding.

Sebastian sighed. And the wet, bitter, laugh he let out made Hunter’s stomach twist.

“I missed you.” he said, quietly, after a while. Hunter stared, eyebrows squeezed in hurt. The other cleaned his throat and then allowed their eyes to meet again. And the green ones were grave now. “I missed you. I missed you when I was sitting home by myself. I missed you when the lights shut down. I missed you when I saw your picture. I missed you when I saw the plaque on the road. Fuck I missed you when I heard a stupid song on the fucking radio. And I realized-” he breathed in. “I have been missing you for decades. That I have never stopped missing you.”

Hunter’s breath trembled and he gulped down as he breathed in sharply, and nodded. Though he was unsure at what. He couldn’t find what to answer. There was some sort of plea and seriousness all the same on Sebastian’s eyes and Hunter saw the years clearly now. The weight of them. The immense loneliness of time open in the green eyes like cuts through the bared earth. He could almost see the twin reflection of his own eyes on the other’s and then it was his time to glance down.

He looked blankly at where Sebastian’s finger were still resting over his thigh. And his own were still wrapped around his wrist, immobile.

He bit his tongue.

A voice in his head was repeating every single fight they had ever had before.

Every single fight he and his wife had had since he returned from war.

Every single reason why he couldn’t sustain their home, he couldn’t hold his family together anymore after a while. Every single reason why he shouldn’t be in a relationship then and why it was still true now.

Still. A softer one recalled all the other moments when they weren’t fighting. And all the moments through his life, when Hunter found himself desperately wishing they were. For, at least, it would mean Sebastian was still in his life. He had never wished that after the end of his marriage.

Sebastian shifted, uncomfortable with his silence and even then Hunter couldn’t find what to say.

“Look. I know we’re old, and fuck if I know I’m way behind with any damn apology. I just thought- Maybe for a week.” Hunter looked up at him as Sebastian filled in the silence nervously at the lack of response. And he was caught off guard by Hunter’s intense gazing. He could see that Hunter was trying to read something in him. And he had to tense himself to stop from faltering at the thought of if he found nothing. His lips closed before he was able to continue, and when he did his tone was barely a breath. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind if I stayed.”

Hunter stared as Sebastian’s long lashes covered his eyes. He had often wondered if the freckles on his nose would disappear, but he could still see them. Just as the gentle wave of his coiffed hair and the lean strength of his muscles even with age. He breathed in. A week. A week wasn’t promising any ties. And maybe they’d end it up fighting again, and Sebastian would leave banging the door, just like he had before, but it was Christmas.

It was Christmas, and Hunter was tired and alone.

As happy moments as he had gathered through the years, he had lived half of his life wishing he had done it differently. Wishing he hadn’t left Sebastian walk out of that door. Wishing he wasn’t reading about his life on the news, instead of hearing it on Sebastian’s purring voice after a long day of work. Wishing he had any excuse to do what Sebastian had just done.

He reached for his face, making the other look up at him. Two grown men, with their lives built and settled, and yet-

He crashed their lips just as thirstily as he had done once.

Sebastian clutched to his shoulder and hip just like he used to.

And suddenly it occurred to him that they both still had half of their lives to live.

 

_To live._

 

 

You healed these scars over time  
Embraced my soul, you loved my mind.

 

 

 


	2. Epilogue

 

 

 

The next day, when he picked up the communicator to call the cater, he stopped, and glanced at Sebastian trotting to him. 

He was drying his hair up in a towel Hunter had given him. And he dripped down on the floor as he came from the lake. Completely naked. Hunter smiled as he put the comm down before it was picked up on the other side.

Sebastian glanced at him curiously, after giving him a smirk in return.  His smart eyes glancing at Hunter with a vivid light, that he had missed all the way to his bones.

“So, did you get us food?”

“No.”

Sebastian snorted, as he sat down nonchalant by his side, and tossed his long legs over Hunter’s. Stirring the other with the cold and something more. And spraying back on the wooden chair to dry, only on the heat of the house. Hunter smirked discreetly wondering if his ass would be imprinted on it from humidity.

“So what, Clarington, are you feeding me only your dick for Christmas?”

Hunter rolled eyes, though his lips betrayed him as they curled. And he tried not to laugh. Sebastian’s bluntness was a warmth that spread from his stomach all the way to his fingertips. Hunter hadn’t had someone he could be so blunt and direct with since they’d parted. It was as refreshing as the fresh scent Sebastian brought with him from outside.

                   “No.” he answered, and though his tone pretended to be harsh, he savored the moment. “We’re going to do groceries. Come on.”

                   He completely ignored Sebastian’s immediate whine, and his complain that he was “way too old for this shit”. His answer was only the other’s clothes he threw on his face. And the smirk he hid as Sebastian’s half hearted complaints ringed on his ears like a familiar Christmas carol.

                   He had never thought he could miss something like that.

 

  
  
._._._.

 

  
  
  
                   Later, he laughed as Sebastian chastised him for pouring too little wine on the sauce. Which the French man immediately fixed. And smiled, as they cooked all night through. 

                   When everything was finally ready for the next day. And they settled in bed, after a rough make out session Hunter didn’t know he still had in him. When Sebastian scooted closer to him, as discreetly as he could, and not half as graciously as he used to. When he squeezed him closer, instead of commenting, and buried his face on the soft hair. Wondering when the hell had he forgotten how much he enjoyed this. 

                   When the lights went off and his eyelids became heavy. When the other stood still for so long he assumed he was asleep. When, instead, he heard the soft, so gentle whisper. And answered with the same warmth, against his ear.

                   “Merry Christmas, Hunt.”

                   “Merry Christmas… Bastian.”

                   When he _felt_ Sebastian’s body go loose as he fell asleep on his arms. 

Somehow he knew. Even if they didn’t stay together. 

In the quietness. He somehow knew. The other would be back.

He knew he would never spend Christmas alone again.

 

  
  
  
And though my edges may be rough  
I never feel I’m quite enough   
It may not seem like very much   
But I’m yours.

 

 


End file.
